The Echo of Death
by rubydreamer
Summary: Based off the movie Suicide Club. Echo Tsuneta is a Japanese American living in Portland, OR when she reads about the train suicide of 54 high school girls in Japan. She begins to discover the secrets via the Internet. Are you connected to yourself?
1. Yumiko's Email

"This news just in. Around 4 p.m. yesterday, May 31st, scores of female middle and high school students waiting at the Shinjuku train station jumped into the path of the express train on the Chuo downtown line. According to eyewitnesses, the girls held hands and yelled out as they jumped. It was probably a mass suicide…"

Shifting uneasily in her father's recliner, Echo Tsuneta read over the article in the June 1st 2001 newspaper with interest. Pushing her ebony hair behind her ears, she switched from the front page to A4, where the story continued to tell the story of the mass suicide in Tokyo, Japan. "…according to recent news, 54 bodies were counted at the scene. No one knows who conducted the suicide. The only baffling clue was a white duffle bag found at the scene with a roll of human skin inside…"

_How could so many girls decide to do that? What could possibly motivate them? And 54 girls! 54 young girls! _

Echo shivered. The mere thought of 54 bodies being crushed and smeared along the track of a fast-moving train made her stomach twist and turn in moaning disagreement. She felt nauseous, and suddenly reconsidered the thought of heating up the leftover spaghetti her father left in the freezer; the thought of it reminded her of guts drenched in thick blood, mixed with gravel and dirt, twisted and --

Echo threw the paper in the recycle bin next to the recliner, where the rest of the newspapers went. _Three days away until recycle day…_Echo thought, eager to get the story out of her head and out of her sight.

The remote was only inches away, but somehow it seemed so far. She reached for it, her arms seeming to shrink as the distance between her and the remote seemed to stretch out. She felt dizzy.

_Why am I so upset from that story? I didn't know any of them! I wonder why…_Echo's question ran through her head repeatedly. At that moment she felt able to pick up the remote. Exhaling slowly, she turned on the TV and watched in utter shock as the national news covered the same story in terrible detail.

"Interviews with some of the parents of the girls who threw themselves in front of the Chuo line train proved to not be helpful in the investigation. All of the parents interviewed stated that their children showed no sign of suicidal desires." The camera then switched to a traumatized mother, who said between trembling sobs, "My daughter seemed perfectly happy! She got good grades, she had a handsome boyfriend…she said she had joined a new club at school, and this is…this is what…" She stopped, crying even harder. An English voice translated her statement, although her Japanese could be heard behind it.

Then to Echo's horror, they showed the scene.

Blood. Human insides. Tattered and stained school uniforms. Book bags. Body parts. More blood. None of the bodies were recognizable.

"How can they show such gore on national television?" Echo cried out loud. She turned the TV off and threw the remote across the room, running to her bedroom to call her friend Addie.

The phone rang twice before Addie picked up, evidently eating something. "Heh-ro?" was the muffled sound that emerged from the phone line.

"Hey Addie," Echo said, twisting her hair around her index finger.

"Hey you," Addie replied, swallowing whatever she had in her mouth. "Please forgive my rudeness. I was eating dinner."

"Ugh, please don't mention food to me right now…" Echo moaned, clutching her stomach and falling back on her bed. Her pillows jumped out of their place and surrounded her head.

"Why not? You sick?"

"You could say that. Have you read the paper yet?"

Addie took another bite of food, swallowed, then after a time said, "No…anything traumatizing?"

"Yes! You should read the front page…54 girls in Tokyo jumped in front of a train!"

"You serious!"

"Sure am. Go see!"

There was silence for a moment, then the sound of shuffling paper. The silence continued until Addie's voice broke through. "Ugh…that's disgusting! No wonder!"

"No wonder what?"

"No wonder my mom was talking about something weird going on in Japan! I swear! Japan's suicide rate is ridiculous."

Echo nodded as if Addie was in front of her. "Especially with an act like that! They must all have some sort of mental disease to just organize something like that."

"Or they were brainwashed."

"Yeah…maybe…" Echo's voice trailed off. _Nothing like that ever happens in America. I wonder why Japan…_

"Well, I better go. I still want to eat my dinner, you know." Addie's mouth was stuffed again.

"Sorry about that. Hopefully you can stomach it now."

"Maybe not, thanks to you!"

Echo laughed. "Yeah, I try."

"It's funny though…have you ever thought that those people who died are the same nationality as you are?"

"Huh?"

"You're Japanese. Haven't you thought of that? Your own nationality has the worst suicide rate."

Echo was silent for a moment. She never thought about it. She always considered herself American, although she and her parents were Japanese immigrants. Her mother died just two months after moving to Portland, Oregon from a tragic car accident, and her father seemed determined to Americanize her afterwards. "Learn to rely yourself and become strong," he would say in broken English. "Not rely on me always." Such a dependant trait was typical of the Japanese, Echo supposed. Echo was ten years old when her mother died and her father told her these things. Since then, she had been forced to grow up, and had always disregarded the slant in her eyes, the accent in her voice, and the color of her hair. She enjoyed her life in America.

Echo snapped back to the phone conversation and said, "Yeah, must mean I am suicidal by genetics."

Addie laughed, and then said she had to go. After hanging up, Echo closed her eyes and tried to think about Japan. She remembered going to elementary school and learning to read and write Japanese, and faintly remembered a girl named Yumiko. "Yumi-can," Echo had said, "Anata wa watashi no ichiban suki na tomodachi yo." (You are my favorite friend.)

The thought was rather depressing, so Echo got up and went to check her email. As she loaded the website, she remembered what her mother said about her name in Japanese. "We named you Echo because your heart's song can be heard in mountains and valleys," her mother said fondly on her eighth birthday. "An American name, but a mysterious one to the typical Japanese. You are our life's beautiful mystery."

Her email displayed three unread messages. One from Addie…a silly site with a weird video about llamas. One from her boyfriend telling her he was going out of town in a week, and was inviting her along. _Fantastic. Three days with his parents in San Francisco. Why not…_The third message was from someone by the name of Yumiko. Echo thought it was creepy to see the name Yumiko after just thinking about her childhood friend. She knew it couldn't be that Yumiko, as she never told Yumi-chan that she was moving to America. She never saw her again, and furthermore, never gave anyone from Japan her email address by the time she was old enough to have one.

She opened the email. The message read:

安心のために黄色い線の後ろに待って下さい。

"Anshin no tame ni, kiroi sen no ushiro ni, matte kudasai," Echo read to herself. "For your safety, please stand behind the yellow line…what the--?"

She closed her email and turned off her computer.


	2. Doushitan no?

Echo woke to the sound of the coffee grinder downstairs. She blinked a few times and drew her eyes to her alarm clock. _5:18? What is Otou-san doing up so early? _Slipping out of her bed groggily, she groped around the darkness of her room for her bathrobe, as there was a chilly early morning air about the room.

As Echo stumbled down the stairs, she noticed a strange smell emerging from the closet underneath the staircase. It was a thick smell, much to the likeliness of something rotting. She scrunched her nose in disgust, almost feeling nauseous. She found her father in the kitchen sipping contently at his coffee.

"Otou-san, there's a strange smell coming from the staircase closet," Echo complained. Echo was permitted to call her father by his Japanese title, although he had made it a rule that there would be none of the home country language spoken in the house. She didn't quite understand why, but she figured it was because it would pain him to hear the language of his late wife Sayaka. Somehow, she figured, it was a comfort and a sign of intimacy to hear his daughter call him at least "Otou-san," instead of "Anata" – dear, or honey – the name Sayaka called him.

"Probably just dog make messes, Echo, it's okay." Her father hardly looked up from his newspaper as he spoke, and it made Echo suspicious.

_It doesn't smell like Pochi's messes, _Echo thought to herself. She shrugged it off and went to the closet for a bowl for cereal. She noticed all the bowls, cups, plates, etc. were yellow.

"Otou-san, why do we have yellow dishes?"

"Your mother bought. They are nice, yes?" was the reply that came from behind the newspaper and coffee mug.

Echo was surprised; she had never seen these dishes in any of the boxes they brought to America before her mother died.

"Did she buy these in Japan or in America?"

"She bought in America."

"When?"

"Just recently."

Echo was a little confused, but figured he was just imagining things. Often she found her father talking to Sayaka's picture as if she were there. _Maybe he misses her very much right now…_

"Otou-san," Echo began as she hunted for the cereal, "why are you up so early?"

"Your mother wished to get early start today. I wake to stop her, say, 'Come back bed,' but she left before I come."

"What do you mean, Otou-san? She's not here."

"No, you're right, she left recently."

"Are you going crazy? She's been dead for years, Otou-san!"

He didn't reply for a long time. The newspaper covered his face, and every so often Echo could hear him sipping his coffee. She thought maybe she had made a mistake by saying that, as his feelings were easily hurt by such statements. Finally, he said quietly, "I prove you."

"How?" Echo's reply was quicker than she intended, but all the same, she found his claims ridiculous.

"Look in staircase closet."

Echo stared at her father for a long time before she turned her head toward the closet. Her father did not budge. She could hardly tell whether he was breathing or not at this point. Her heart pounded against her suddenly frail rib cage, and the air around her seemed to be thinning. Finally, her feet led her in the direction of the closet, slowly, step-by-step…

When she reached the closet door, the smell she observed earlier was stronger than ever. It was definitely not their little dog Pochi's messes. And even if it was, her father would have panicked and had cleaned everything fifty times over. She couldn't swallow; the lump in her throat was a sign she was about to hurl.

She turned the knob on the closet door hesitantly, the fear in her rising to a nearly screaming climax. As the door cracked, the smell rushed into her eyes and nose, and at that point, she vomited. She was surprised to see the mess she made was tinted with yellow.

As the door swung open, a scream emerged from deep within Echo's body, and her hands flew to her mouth in utter disbelief.

There she was: Sayaka Tsuneta, half-rotted, hung by a thick, heavy rope tied to the hanger bar. The blood that dripped from her hair, limbs, and wrists seemed fresh and boiling, although the appearance and smell of her corpse suggested she had been dead for a while. On her face was the most disturbing smile…a smile of pure excitement, happiness…her teeth glimmered, being the only source of brightness among the entire collection of dark, decaying gore.

A voice…or maybe two, she wasn't sure…slipped in and out of either side of her head, sounding as if someone had strained their vocal chords to make two distinct sounds. It was a slow, rhythmic chant, taunting, spine-tingling, singing lazily and eerily: "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…"

Echo screamed, covering her ears. "OTOU-SAN!" She ran into the kitchen crying, only to see her father's hand, still holding his coffee mug, detached from his body and lying on the floor beside him. The river of blood that rushed from his wrist soaked everything near him. He was not dead yet, but he was dying fast. The smile on his face was permanent in Echo's memory.

The voice continued: "Thy kingdom come…thy will be done…on earth, as it is in _heaven_…give us this day our daily…bread…"

"NO! STOP!" Echo cried, but to no avail.

"And forgive us our trespasses…as we forgive those ­_who trespassed against us…_and lead us not into temptation…"

"NO! NO!" Echo's sobs of utter fear and trauma shook her body like a storm, and she tripped many times trying to run upstairs.

The voice she was hearing – the chanting, taunting, two-toned, robotic voice – suddenly shrieked so loud her ears burst, bled, and stung in pain, and this is what it said.

"_AND DELIVER US FROM EVIL…………………!"_

Echo screamed so loud that she woke herself up to the bright sunshine of her room. The solitary tree outside waved lazily with the wind, small leaves flying into her window.

When Echo realized she had been dreaming, she cried. Her tears burned her cheeks, blinding her, making her feel like she was underwater…she threw the covers off of her and ran downstairs, shrieking at the reminder of the closet below her. There her father was, in the kitchen, both hands in tact, reading his paper as always.

"Otou-san!" Echo's crying startled him, as she reminded him now of the little girl who used to run into his room after a nightmare.

"Echo-chan, why you cry?"

"Otou-san, did Okaa-san kill herself in the staircase closet?" Echo's question was direct, rude, and sharp. It did not have an accusing tone, but it had enough sharpness to it to make her father uncomfortable.

"No, no, daughter. Okaa-san died by car crash. Not in closet. Why you ask such question?"

Echo ran to the cupboards, checking every dish for a hint of yellow. She looked everywhere in the kitchen for unusual yellow things. When she finally accepted that she was dreaming, she melted to the floor, curled up in a ball, and sobbed.

"Echo-chan! Echo-chan! Doushitan no? Daijoubu? Watashi ni iinasai yo…"

The sound of her father's Japanese voice put her in a mild trance, and, slowly, she began to tell of her horrific nightmare.

安心のために黄色い線の後ろに待って下さい。


	3. Road Paint and Ribbons

Echo stopped in the hallway as her backpack started to slip off her shoulder. All of the new books she had to carry around couldn't all fit in the backpack, so in having to carry some in her arms, she had very little control of how things decided to mess her up. First, her backpack's weight had caused her to drop it from her shoulder onto a freshly painted road, where the yellow middle line was not yet dry. Second, she had dropped her math book onto the foot of a timid freshman, which made her feel even worse. After she had finally figured out just the right way to walk with all this new weight, the damn thing was slipping again.

"Fucking bag," she grumbled.

Addie appeared from somewhere to her left, helping her with her backpack. "Hey you. What's up?"

"Nothing, really," Echo replied wearily. "Just trying to practice my balancing act for the rest of the year."

"No kidding," Addie replied, "you'll definitely need it. Why are you taking so many classes this year? Don't you know that seniors can take _easy _classes, and best of all, LESS of them?"

"Eh…I need to keep myself busy." Echo's answer was half truth, half fib. She had wanted to keep herself busy, yes…but her second reason was her father. In his obsession with America, he had made it very clear that she was to succeed academically and become a doctor or some sort of scientist. She had originally liked the idea, and particularly liked the study of blood…until she had that nightmare. Now she wasn't so sure she could handle some of the classes she was taking that had to do with the subject.

"Well, whatever. Your funeral. Anyway, I really have to pee, so if you don't mind, I'll be slippin' off in this direction. Good luck carrying those things around!" Addie sped down the hallway to find the restrooms.

"Thanks," Echo answered back quietly. She had been so shaken up from the dream she had that she had wondered all morning if her mother had committed suicide of some kind. _I'm probably still bothered by that news article. _Echo reasoned with herself in this way often, and in trying to ignore the fact that she had the thoughts of her mother's possible suicide, she was doing herself more harm.

As she walked to her locker, she heard a group of girls mention a train accident. Suddenly her ear was cocked towards her right side, where the group of four was trying to keep their conversation low key. If labels had to be put on them, they would most likely fit in the "art crowd," as they wore crazy outfits to display their emotions, and one of them was a "body painter," whatever that was. Echo had heard that the girl made paintings with her bare body, but she wasn't sure; after all, rumors are rumors.

"Did you hear about that train accident?" one girl asked. The rest replied with something incomprehensible. "I heard there were 50 girls."

"54," another corrected. "It sounds so cult-like! They must have been brainwashed!"

The more eccentric of the four made a dramatic facial expression, her hand posed in the air like a ballerina in mid-dance. "What if it was a message to society? What if they were trying to speak to us?"

"What would they have to say in death?" the first asked with doubt. "Everyone just thinks they were crazy."

"But there are those who are deeper in the heart and soul who could maybe read their message…like, us! Well, maybe not all of us…" the crazy one paused to give a look to the first girl, and then continued, "Maybe it was an act of rebellion against something!"

"Whatever, you're nuts!" the fourth one – the most quiet of them all – exclaimed. "They were a cult! I read about it in an online news article. They were brainwashing each other! Even if your statement is true, Japan's society is different from ours. Maybe they were getting sick of their robotic lifestyle."

Echo walked away from the conversation quickly. Had she known she would hear about the article again, she probably would have avoided coming to school. _I should have known better, _she thought to herself with a bitter smirk.

School came and went, and by the time the last bell rang, she was desperate to get home and take a nap. She couldn't get the crazy girl's statement out of her head. _"What if it was a message to society?"_

Another thing that stuck in her mind was the fourth girl's statement that Japanese were robotic. She never really thought about it before. She never really bothered to think about…_things, _now that she thought about it. She always just lived life day by day, accepting things that came and brushing away things that went.

_Robots don't think, do they?_

Echo felt slightly dizzy all of a sudden, and decided to sit down on a bench in the nearby park. She didn't care much if she was late home from school today.

Echo's cell phone rang, and she looked down to see a text message from Addie. Something about meeting her on MSN so that she could send her some music files of her band's newest song.

Echo typed into her phone: "Y can't I come to ur place and listen?"

She didn't get a response for a while. Finally, Addie's reply came. "B-cuz I have lots of people to talk to 2-nite on MSN."

Echo typed back, "About what?"

Addie: "Tons of sht. Mostly drama."

Echo: "Just call them, then."

Addie: "Internet is way easier! GTG…l8ter."

End.

Echo shut her phone and stared at a group of young girls passing by. They all had matching sweaters (different colors, same brand), and all were carrying those Bratz dolls. She hated Bratz.

As she gathered her things to head home, she noticed the yellow streak from the road paint on her backpack. She rolled her eyes in frustration, storming off towards home.

The road was steaming with the afternoon sun, as it had rained earlier that morning. Portland was famous for its rain. Cars sped by in a hurry, and every now and again, Echo would hear the sound of screeching tires. She knew it would be another 10 minutes until she go home, which frustrated her even more than she already was. She decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway that cut straight to her street, which she figured out with her former knowledge of Portland's roads and streets.

The alley was somewhat dark, and banana peels were scattered everywhere. The buildings on either side were so tall that the sun was barely visible; just one strip of blue sky could be seen directly above her. She saw something hanging from a fire escape, thinking it was a trash bag. As she approached, however, something in the air made her stomach queasy, like when she had the nightmare…

A teenage boy, hanging by his neck, greeted her stunned face.

"Oh my god!" Echo cried out, stumbling back in utter shock, hyperventilating. She had never seen a dead body in real life before. His eyelids were turning black, his extremities changing hues as well. His tongue was sticking out slightly, and around his neck was a yellow ribbon. He looked young, but one could hardly tell with all of the blood having drained his face of color and squishing his entire face into a scrunched up look of anger.

There was a note attached to his wrist, but she refused to touch him. She threw up in a trash can across from him, and sat against the wall crying. She didn't know what to do. Obviously she should have gotten up and walked away, but after that? Was her it duty to call the police? Or should she run home and never come out? His body swung slowly in front of her, dancing in the silent air of death, his hair seemingly greasy from lack of bathing. His determined expression on his lifeless face almost made her think that he was on a mission rather than suffering from pain.

Portland had many suicides, she figured, but not many were reported to the public. They were kept silent, like dust swept under a rug to quickly clean up. A small obituary was placed in the newspaper for them, but no one read those things except for their family members and friends. That was it: a sigh, a dismay-filled shake of the head, a quick report for police and medical records, and an obituary.

Echo got up, her legs shaking, and stumbled to the nearest payphone to dial the police.


End file.
